Cut Your Losses
by TuesdayTerrible
Summary: It didnt lessen the pain any- but it at least made it worth it. Or Merle Dixons Story.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my interpretation of Merle and Daryl's childhood with a focus on our least favorite redneck- Merle Dixon. This is his story of how Merle became _Merle. _This story has no chronological order- its a series of Merle's memory as he remembers them. You will watch Merle Dixon change from who he was to who he is. The child abuse in every chapter will be as explicit as I can make it. It is a gritty read- and is not rated M lightly. Enjoy. The chapter titles are addressed by Merles age. There will be some duplication's.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead; or the Dixons. Unfortunately.

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.Twelve.

Mama was out with Daryl at some park or some shit- an the ole mans at work- or the bar- or somewhere that wasnt here. That was nice too. It was nice to have some quiet. Quiet to think about nothin'. Not worryin bout Daryl getting hurt. Or Mama getting hurt. Or hisself getting hurt.

It was nice to lay on his mattress, and stare up at the ceiling and take care of hisself. Because touchin was all he had anymore. Mama stayed away from him- cause when she didnt, somebody usually regretted it later. Pa didnt touch em' not in a way that didnt make him flinch and Daryl- well Daryl touched everythin he wasnt suppose ta.

He felt kinda weird doing it the first time, running his fingers along his shaft- getting use ta the feel of the thing. He hadnt even realized ya could feel good from it until Samantha. Cute girl in his math class- she had rested her pink nail polished hand on his lap and it just happened. A twitch. A feeling. A _good_ feeling. And those were hard to come by- and so he divulged himself in- well whatever this was exactly.

He heard the door open when it was to late- his dick immediately softened in his hand as he heard that familiar voice speak sending shivers down in his spine. He couldnt bear to look towards the door and see whatever sick expression his father wore. The good feeling long gone yet he couldnt seem to open his eyes or let go of his dick- frozen with fear like a dear in headlights.

"Ya masterbatin boy?" His fathers words came out, a cocky slur, and his heart thundered in his ears. He could faintly hear his brain behind the pumping blood urging him to cover hisself. Telling him to MOVE. It was humiliation that held him frozen, that hand still clutching his limp member.

Not responding had not been the correct answer- because even as his father crossed the space between them, the response in his brain that signaled him to move- had simply not kicked in fast enough. His father ripping the sheet from him as he moved to cover himself, his arm holding on tight to his left one that was now, if only loosly near his penis.

It was as if time had slowed as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his pocket knife. He couldnt breathe- and for what felt like the first time since things had gotten this bad- tears began to run out of Merle Dixons face.

"No...Dad...no I..."

But he was only twelve, and his old man had him beat with over a hundred pounds, big hands and a pointy knife.

"Aint your dad." His ole man growled pressing the knife against his throat threatningly- forcing his elbow into the boys midsection- Merle choked out and leaned into the knife- the blade drawing blood, but only the tiniest bit. "My boy- uses a woman ta take care of hisself. Aint any of this...hand shit...what ya think Merle? Ya think ya should lose a finger? A HAND maybe? "

He didnt mean to, and though he was scared- it was a threat his dad had used many a times- a threat he hadnt actually gone through yet. His hiccup musta been a sign to the oleman- a sign that the boy was calling his bluff. Or maybe the ole man wasnt that smart- maybe he just figured a better way to get his point across.

The knife didnt go to his hand- it slid along the length of his dick.

Merles eyes flew to the back of his head, and a wail let out of him he didnt even know was possible as blood pooled between his legs, staining his thighs. Panic and Pain consuming him as he fought to stay awake- afraid of what might happen if he didnt.

"Now" his father said, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the blood coating the sheets. "See what kinda woman youll get with that scarred up thing."

He headed towards the door without at backwards glance- pausing only to say- clean up those sheets boy.

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A/N: Read and Review as you take this journey with Merle and I.  
Wed really appreciate it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: The feedback I have gotten from this fic has only been negative thus far- borderlining rude. Criticism does not bother me, and if readers have a problem with this I have no problem redirecting it elsewhere if they can do so POLITELY. However, the negative feedback hasnt deterred me in the least- so please. have another chapter. :)

And as always. SEVERE CHILD ABUSE WARNING, in-case you didnt understand that last time.

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.Nine.

Is the first time Merle Dixon ever thought fear could be a tangible thing. Fear wasnt something that your mind conjured up, fear could be held in your hand- held in your sight. Fear was watching his mother walk down their steps filled to the point of explosion with his little brother. Fear was the way his father watched her, his canines digging hatefully into his bottom lip. The looks of disgust and hatred that were no longer directed at him- but at her- the closer she got to delivery- the closer he got to losing his temper.

"Daryl." his ma whispered to him one day while she was cooking. Merle quietly sitting at the dinner table.

"Huh?" Merle said absently, biting at his hangnail- his eyes on the front door waiting for his father.

"The baby." she said stirring the wooden spoon in the pot of whatever stew she was making tonight. Smelled like rabbit. Smelled good. "his name...I think we should name him Daryl."

His eyes met his mothers and he gave off a strong nod, in which she returned with a soft smile.

"Youll look out for him wont you?" She continued her eyes now turned towards the door also, the clock becoming pain stakingly, each passing second an agonizing one as they waited for the sound of his old pick up to come up the driveway- that was how they knew what kind of night it would be- however that car sounded.

The sound of rocks kicking up the driveway made Merles blood run cold- her question forgotten as his body tensed in his seat. It was going to be a bad night. He was in a hurry to get in here to vent on somebody.

His father could lie. But the sound of his truck didnt, and neither did the sound of the front door slamming open and into the wall. Merle couldnt help but wonder why, even though his father made so much noise, he couldnt help but wonder how everything was so quiet impending and around his arrival.

He crosses the space between the living room and the kitchen and takes a seat at the head of the table. Merle doesnt mean to be he flinches automatically- its an instinct he hasnt learned how to control yet even though he's had plenty of learned experiences that the tighter he contracts his muscles the more the impact hurts.

His father raises an eyebrow as if Merles behavior is strange, before turning over a shoulder to stare at his wife.

"That almost done woman? Swear da fatter ya get, da slower ya get."

Merle felt his fists tighten underneath the table- and he wished their was something he could do to get the attention on him instead of his mother. When his mother brought over their drinks, sweet tea- dad used that as his breaker.

Merle watched in utter horror as his father grabbed her up by her blonde curls and slammed her face into the wood of their table.

"I take a beer with my food woman." he all but snarled in her ear- but his mother didnt cry. She flinched as he spoke to her- her body to unable to hide its reactions to him. But Merle was having a hard time controlling his anger yet fear held him grounded- he knew if he didnt respond correctly it would be more trouble for his ma...not for him. He had ta protect her. Had to protect his baby brother. Had ta.

So he did the only thing he could think of- he knocked over his glass of tea. He watched as the light liquid streamed down the table towards his father. He watched as the olemans hands untwined from his mothers hair and the creak of the chair against the tile floor sounded like less of a threat and more of a relief as he moved to hover over Merle.

The force of his fathers hand was nothing compared to the force that he hit the table with and the room swam for a minute. His mother taking a silent step back, hand withdrawn over her mouth to suppress her sobs.

She knew what he had done for her, and as the ole man tore open his skin with his belt- he just silently watched his mama watch the belt crack against his flesh- He could feel the blood running down his back and he bit the inside of his lips to will himself not to cry. He focused on his mothers big round stomach instead of her tear stained face.

He didnt do it just for his mama. He hoped she knew that. He did it for him too.

Daryl.

It didnt lessen the pain any- but it at least made it worth it.

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A/N: R I love em all- the good...the bad...and even the ugly. Send em my way, youre only makin my day :)


	3. Chapter 3

Authors Note: If any of you have a tumblr...Im sure you have come across the spoilers about the last couple episodes left in Season 3. If you have not, well, Id advise you not to go find them. They are upsetting. This aside, My goal is to work on this diligently so Merle's story will be completed by Next Sunday, and after that episode there will be **one chapter** left in this story. I hope you all enjoy it. The brutalness- and even the tenderness of it all. As always **Severe Child Abuse Warning**; not for the light of heart or weak of mind. Love you all.

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.Fifteen.

"Hey Merle."

Merle sighed as he stared towards Daryl taking another drag off his cigarette. "What is it?" he muttered, eyes still on the driveway- waiting for that pick up truck to pull up.

"Whats school like?" Daryl asked quietly, leaning against the side of the house, hands in his jean pockets- eyes on him.

He felt his heart pang with jealously towards the little five year old. He wished his biggest insecurity was something as trivial as school. Hell, he wish he went ta school enough ta be insecure bout it. But with that same envy came happiness- let him know he was doin alright by Daryl- so that one of them Dixons could amount to fuckin somethin- even if it wasnt him.

"Schools easy." Merle said exhaling another puff of smoke, eyes drifting off to the sky. "Letters and numbers and shit and Ma's taught ya most of that already."

"Ya." Daryl said smiling. "Ma's smart."

Merle shrugged trying to hide his disgust- smart woman dont stay with no abusive assholes an they most certainly dont let their child get beat by abusive assholes like their ole man. But he didnt bother explainin that to Daryl. Pa aint never laid a hand on him' wasnt gonna start neither.

"Yup." he let his cigarette fall to their porch before putting it out with the toe of his boot. "Why dont ya wander down to – whats that kids name again- pattys before dinner?"

Daryl furrowed his brow. "Patrick dont liketa be called Patty, Merle."

Merle sighed running his fingers over the bridge of his nose, their father would be home soon and he wanted Daryl far away- was easier ta lie ta him if he didnt hear or see nothin. Daryl had that way about him- that look that he knew more than he should and Merle didnt like it.

"Just get outta here ya lil brat."

Daryl frowned before bounding down the porch steps and across the yard and into the wood line. Merle watched him til his tiny form was outta sight, just in time to turn back to the driveway to hear that stupid old truck rumble in.

Merle was different now- he couldnt hold his own against his ole man- but he could make it harder for him now and thats why he didnt want Daryl around- because he didnt want the ole cowardly sonofabitch to go after Daryl cause Merle could restrain him some- cause Merle could get a little fight in- cause Merle could do more than just take it.

It wasnt a big difference. He still got his ass handed to him. It still hurt like hell. But the fact was it was a change and if Merle had learned anything so far- it was that the ole man, didnt like that.

His father looked towards him as he shut the truck door, his work boots hitting each step hard, and Merle stood grounded in his spot- anger overwhelming the fear that continued to flow through his blood stream.

"Move outta the way boy." his father spoke his tone hushed.

But Merle didnt move standing firmly in front of his ole man- toe to toe with the sonofabitch, who **still** seemed to tower over him, if only a head taller.

"Dont make me tell you again." his fathers voice growled and yet Merle couldnt find himself in him to move.

"Naw" Merle said a smile gracing the corner of his lips. "I think I like it right here."

What happened next surprised Merle more than anything, the corner of his fathers lips turned into a smile and then he took a step to the side and went around him, only pausing as he passed em.

"Well youre a Dixon at least. Holden your own like that. Maybe I can knock some backbone inta ya yet. Dont get use ta it boy, dontcha forget your place less you want ya motha and brotha ta take it."

Merle swallowed hard as he heard the screen door shut and he was left alone on the porch- he could feel the lump in his throat rise and he had to bite it back to let out a sound hes sure he wouldnta liked. It was something like pride that filled him when his father praised him, coated with that dark sense of fear for his motha and brothas safety and than the fear of why he even felt anything remotely good about praise from a man who rapes his mother and beats him raw.

.

Merle was still sitting on the front porch when Daryl comes home, the sky dark- lightning bug lightin up the front yard. Daryl doesnt say nothing as he takes a seat beside Merle, doesnt ask him why hes still outside- just sits out there next to em starin at the empty yard til they hear their mother callin Daryl inta get ready for bed.

"Night Merle." Daryl mutters softly opening the screen door- and Merle listens to his brothers footsteps rumble up the stairs.

"Night Daryl." he whispers to no one- lighting another cigarette hoping if he waits a little longer the fear would pass.

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A/N: Reviews are always appreciated.


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